


The Key to the Conquest

by TaleWeaver



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: Aegon, first of his name, and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya founded their kingdom along the shores of Slaver's Bay. Three centuries later, Prince Aegon, sixth of his name, has been sent to conquer the seven kingdoms of Westeros.  In the castle of the Targaryen's old allies House Velaryon, Aegon meets a forgotten princess... and forges a connection that will assure his conquest.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71
Collections: Jonsa Holidays 2019





	The Key to the Conquest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgana_Ravenheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana_Ravenheart/gifts).

> In this AU, the first Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya went to Essos and started their kingdom along the now-former Slaver’s Bay. Jon’s mother left the North to settle in Braavos, where she encountered Rhaegar, and Jon was raised in Essos as Aegon Targaryen (his older brother not only survives, but was called something else, because I just find that creepy).  
As in the historical record of the Conquest, the area of the canon Crownlands currently fluctuates between the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and various petty kings. Driftmark is held by a very old, very rich and powerful family, meaning they’ve adjourned Dragonstone and are more or less left to take care of themselves.

“Welcome to Driftmark, Prince Aegon.”

“Thank you, Lord Corlys.”

Aegon shook the older man’s hand firmly, and regarded him carefully. House Velaryon of Driftmark Island were some of the oldest and most valued allies of the Targaryens, even though they rode the sea rather than the sky. Aegon took after his Westerosi mother; Lord Corlys, with his silver-blonde hair and deep blue eyes that stopped slightly short of purple, looked far more Valyrian than Aegon did.

“Let me introduce you to my family, and some of my court.”

One by one, each man and woman stepped forward to converse with him in Valyrian. Aegon was grateful – despite his mother being from Westeros, she’d died in the birthing bed and had no chance to teach him the language of her people.

With the habit of one born into politics, Aegon made note of all the names, finding some aspect of their appearances or manner to act as a memory aid so he wouldn’t insult anyone with the wrong name later. Which was why he noticed that no one introduced him to the redheaded beauty, who gracefully stepped in to aid anyone who stumbled or forgot the right Valyrian word in their speech. She wore exquisitely embroidered clothing, and carried herself with the innate manner of a noblewoman, yet was so unobtrusive Aegon had to work to keep her in sight.

During a private drink with his host after the feast, he asked about her.

“Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the former Key to the North.”

Aegon frowned sharply. “Former?”

Corlys sighed, “Sad story. She’s technically the heir to Winterfell, seat of the Winter Kings. She was Eddard Stark’s oldest daughter, but when she was eleven they sent her to the Stormlands to be betrothed to the Storm King’s oldest, Joffrey. She’d barely reached Storm’s End when her father was overthrown by the Iron Born working with the traitorous House Bolton. Her older brother, then the heir, was making a state visit to the Riverlands with his mother – she was a treaty bride from Riverrun – and tried to take back the North. Would have done it, too, if one of their bannerman hadn’t secretly done a deal with the Boltons, and broke guest right to slaughter the Stark’s inner circle.” Corlys broke off to tell Aegon, “I don’t know how seriously you take the custom in Essos, but here you must make sure you always respect guest right, Prince Aegon, even for your enemies. If you don’t, no one in Westeros will regard your word as good.” Corlys continued, “Her younger brothers were slaughtered in the takeover of Winterfell Castle. Her younger sister disappeared.”

“Making her the sole heir,” Aegon concluded. “I’m surprised the Storm King didn’t marry her to his own heir or younger brother immediately.”

Corlys snorted. “Robert Baratheon cares for nothing but drinking, whoring and tourneys. Or a tavern fight will do in a pinch. His wife would have made sure of it – she’s one of the Lannisters of the Rock – but the girl was still so young it would have been considered beyond the pale. At some point, it was decided the girl needed seasoning, and was sent off here for fostering, during a year when we were supposedly part of the Stormlands. Ha!” Corlys snorted. “Trying to get her out of hands of anyone who could use her as a rallying point for the North, is my guess. It’s been almost seven years – if there’s anyone out there who could make use of Sansa’s claim, they aren’t doing anything about it.” 

Corlys emptied his cup and sighed. “We’re happy enough to shelter the girl. She’s exquisitely trained to be a Lady, and she’s my wife’s favourite attendant. You must have noticed she’s the best at Valyrian of all of us. She sings beautifully, plays the bells, high harp and lute as well as any of my court musicians, and the stuff she embroiders fetches a good price in trade matters. She more than earns her keep. In fact, starting tomorrow she’ll be your tutor in Westerosi customs and language. Depending on when we mobilize, she may need to come on the campaign trail as your personal interpreter.”

Aegon frowned. The field of war was no place for a gently reared lady. Not to mention, he found Lady Sansa powerfully attractive, and the idea of having her constantly in close quarters with him boded ill.

Aegon had bedded women before, yes, but rarely. Mostly because he never bedded a woman who was more than nominally in his power, and a prince of the Valyrian Empire had a great many men and women in his power. All of his previous lovers had made advances on him, rather him approaching them. He couldn’t bear the thought of having a woman simply because she feared what he’d do to her or her family if she refused him. Lady Sansa sounded like she was in no position to refuse any man, let alone him.

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Aaaah,” Sansa whined, her head thrashing from side to side.

Her waist-length red hair streamed across the sheets, her bare breasts glistened in the moonlight that poured through his bedroom window, and Aegon had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Wanting to hear more, Aegon diligently kept working his fingers between her spread thighs, and bent his head to swipe his tongue against her damp folds. He felt her slender fingers weave through his curls, and Aegon grinned into his lover’s cunt as she began to tug rhythmically, in time with the rocking of her hips. In a matter of minutes he was rewarded with the quiet yelp that heralded her lesser climaxes. It would take a greater effort from him to make her howl.

Aegon lifted his head to breathe, and panted out a laugh. What a delight his Sansa was.

“You... **impossible**... man,” Sansa huffed. With a quick, agile wriggle she slipped out halfway from underneath him and flipped onto her front with a haughty head toss that sent her fiery hair cascading.

Aegon’s laugh became another draconic grin as he stretched out beside her, leaning on one elbow to support himself. He used his free hand to slide away the hair that covered her back, leaving it bare. With gentle fingers, he traced along the white lines along Sansa’s back.

Two weeks since she’d offered herself to him, so calmly and sweetly that Aegon still couldn’t be sure if he’d been seduced or not.

_“I’ve been deserted by Direwolves, and clawed by Lions. I want to see what it is to ride a Dragon.”_

“What is it about my scars that fascinates you so?” Sansa murmured.

“It’s a lesson, and a reminder. A lesson that your battlefield of courtesy and diplomacy can leave scars as well as my kind of battlefield does. A reminder of the kind of people I’m dealing with.”

If Joffrey Baratheon had any idea what Aegon had in mind for him, he’d already be on a ship to the Summer Isles.

Sansa threw him a speculative look under her eyelashes, and Aegon wondered if she was finally ready to reveal what she wanted. 

Aegon knew from the beginning that no noble maiden, let alone a princess, would give her precious maiden’s flower to a foreign conqueror without a deeper motive than infatuation or simple pleasure. It didn’t bother him that Sansa had her own agenda; he had come to know her well enough to be sure that Sansa was not the kind of person who manipulated and lied, she was the kind of person who bargained and negotiated. Everyone plotted and schemed, but Aegon was always willing to consider an equal bargain.

“Take me with you when you leave here.”

“A war campaign is no place for a gently bred lady,” Aegon replied.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, and she sprang. Before he could draw breath, Aegon was flat on his back, Sansa astride his hips, her hands braced on either side of his head. His half-hard cock began to rapidly increase in arousal, though he did his best to ignore that and listen.

“You need me, Aegon Targaryen. Your Westerosi is the level of a child, and without a good interpreter you will be lost. There is no one in your army who can do it, and the Velaryons cannot spare a man from the field.”

“I would never deny how valuable you would be, your skills in understanding what people say, or your ability to hear what people do not say aloud,” Aegon swore. “But this will be so dangerous, Sansa. What could you gain?”

“**Home**,” Sansa sobbed. She took a tearing breath, and her voice steadied. “Bring your dragon North. Burn the traitors who stole my home and scatter their armies. Make me the Winter Queen and I will kneel to you. You will gain a Kingdom, and half this land, with barely a man lost. Name me Warden of the North, and I will protect your interests as well as mine from the Wall to the Neck. Give me a babe, Aegon, and I will name him a Stark, not a Blackfyre, and your blood will run in the veins of the Lords of Winterfell. Winterfell is **mine**, my home, and you are my only chance to take it back.”

Home? Aegon had never had a place he could say ‘I belong here’. It was one of the things he hoped to find in Westeros – somewhere he could call his own. He could not blame Sansa for wanting hers back. In truth, the bargain she offered was an excellent one.

“I can’t head straight North,” he warned. “I must build a home base first.”

“I can help with that, too,” Sansa smiled. Then she reached between their bodies, and fitted his rigid cock to her welcoming entrance.

“Can you now?” Aegon growled as she sank down. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Sansa sighed, and smiled, as she started to ride him. “The Baratheons have an excellent Master of Whispers. He took a shine to me, and I learned a great deal from him. I learned more on my own.”

Aegon gripped her hips to urge her on, and as she rocked and rose and sank, the sight of her moonlit nudity burned itself into his mind. “And what secrets do you hold that can help me?”

Sansa lifted her hand into the air, curling her fingers and beckoning Aegon closer. Aegon sat up, and they both moaned as his cock shifted inside her. Sansa’s hard nipples rubbed against his sweat-slick chest as her hips circled down below, and Aegon could barely keep himself from spilling instantly. But he knew, somehow, that Sansa would lock her lips as soon as he did. Sansa’s head leaned forward, which put her throat within range of his mouth. Aegon promptly started to suck on her pulse point, and was rewarded with a beautifully lewd snarl, and fingernails digging into his back.

Sansa bit down on his earlobe, none too gently, and muttered, “The Baratheon line hangs by a thread.”

“How?”

“Cersei Lannister hates her husband so much, that she refuses to give him an heir.”

“None of her three children are Baratheons? Who are their fathers?”

“When I was almost thirteen years old, I watched Cersei fuck her own twin brother.”

It wasn’t enough to soften his cock; nothing could do that around Sansa. But it did make Aegon freeze in place.

“She didn’t know for sure it was me, and I was still too valuable to kill. So she sent me to Driftmark.”

“Robert may have no legitimate children, but he has two brothers.”

“Renly can only love other men – his cock refuses to rise for a woman, no matter how beautiful. He’ll die without issue, whether it’s tomorrow or a century from now. Stannis despises both Robert and Renly. Defeat them and he won’t come to their aid. He’s stubborn, though, he will not kneel unless you can convince him it’s his duty in the best interests of his people. His daughter, Shireen, is the only true heir of the Baratheon line. She’s very clever, and stronger than she knows. She’ll rule the Stormlands for you if you can offer her the right husband to support her. Give me access to question your candidates, and I’ll find someone who will treat her well.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders for balance, and Aegon’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as she began to move again, new passion flooding them both. He cupped her heaving breast in one hand, and pinched her nipple. Sansa gasped and her inner core clenched around his cock. Aegon made a careful note of the technique for future use, and reached down to find her nub of pleasure, letting her own violent movements rub it against his fingers. “My armies will give me the future Crownlands, and you’ve just given me the key to the Stormlands and the North. What of the other kingdoms? What of the Vale and the Riverlands, the Reach and Dorne?”

Sansa laughed quietly and shook her head. “I have to keep something to bargain with, don’t I?”

Aegon got his legs under him and launched himself forward, pressing Sansa back onto the sheets as they fell, her legs instinctively spreading wide to accommodate him. Aegon drove himself into her again and again, his hips slamming into hers, his powerful grip leaving bruises on her thighs as he held her in place. Sansa groped her own breasts frantically, so far gone in her own lust that all thoughts of ladylike behaviour were lost in the haze of pleasure that mounted in her body and mind.

“I will conquer the seven kingdoms of Westeros, and you’re going to help me,” Aegon snarled.

“Yes! Yes I will,” whimpered Sansa.

“But I will never conquer you.”

Then the black dragon and the red wolf howled together.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> **Headcanon:** Once they take the North, Sansa insists on staying in Winterfell until giving birth to her first child – a girl. She’s actually rather pleased about that, because her daughter can only inherit the North (the Valyrian Empire and thus the still-being-built Iron Throne has those pesky primogeniture laws). Aegon decrees the baby girl as legitimate, and Lyarra Stark becomes the second Ruling Lady of Winterfell. Sansa refuses to marry Aegon – first in the Godswood, then in a Sept - until after this happens. She won’t become a Targaryen Queen until after she has provided an heir to carry on the Stark name.  
Sansa and Aegon have seven children in the end – an heir for Winterfell, an heir for the Iron Throne, and one to marry into each of the other kingdoms and take the name of whatever ruling house becomes Lords Paramount. This is not a couple who leaves things to chance.
> 
> **Notes: ** I was going to add a missing scene here, from Sansa’s pov before her and Jon/Aegon’s first time; I wanted to give a look into Sansa’s headspace to show her consent, but it didn’t really say anything about her that Aegon didn’t figure out in his pov. But it wasn’t big enough to really add any insight – it was more of a missing paragraph!
> 
> The working concept of this fic was: _“Jon sent from Valyria empire in Essos to conquer Westeros; he lands on Dragonstone and finds Sansa, under Joffrey’s thumb. She’s pissed at everyone, and she and Jon fall in love and conquer the shit out of the 7K.”_
> 
> This fic was inspired by the real life history of the Spanish Conquistador Hernan Cortes, and his adviser and mistress Dona Marina (also known as La Malinche); while she remains a controversial figure in modern-day Mexico, there’s no denying that she was an extraordinary and gifted woman. Several of Cortes’ colleagues wrote of her capabilities as a diplomat and adviser in their letters home – a bunch of white rich elite men, specifically mentioning the intellectual abilities of a late teens/very early twenties woman of colour. That’s rare enough nowadays, let alone in the sixteenth century.
> 
> Basically, it’s because I was looking through one of my Dad’s old reference books and found the following:  
_ Great Ages of Man: Ancient America (Time Life Books) by Jonathan Norton Leonard (International edition 1970)_  
On the way to central Mexico, Cortes stopped along the coast of Tabasco and acquired what was to prove an invaluable asset: an extremely intelligent Indian girl who knew not only the local dialects but the Aztec language as well, and who learned Spanish so easily that she soon became a proficient interpreter. She was also uncommonly attractive, and Cortes made her his mistress and closest adviser. Under the name of Marina she became a Christian and wholly loyal to Cortes.  
Without Dona Marina’s knowledge of Indian politics and ways of thinking, Cortes would not have conquered Mexico. Through her he learned the fatal weakness of the Aztec Empire: that its provinces were burning with hatred and were eager to revolt.


End file.
